The Iron Price
by Fastslayne
Summary: A clan of dwarves have settled near Fornost, a town that sits at the foot of the Blue Mountains. Lady Elana, daughter of a local lord, commissions the work of a new blacksmith, only to realize there is more to him that meets the eye.
1. Chapter 1

"What are you doing here?"

Elana spun around, dropping the fine mail shirt she'd been fingering. She hadn't heard him come in.

Nor did the blacksmith not look happy to see her. Covered in sweat from the fires of his forge, his face and forearms were smudged with soot and his eyes were fierce with his annoyance at being disturbed. Elana gulped.

"I'm sorry for intruding. I hadn't intended to come here at all, otherwise I would have sent a note…" She was hedging, and he knew it.

"Yet here you are. In my forge, late at night. Why?" His dark face was impassive, but his eyes were glinting at her under his heavy brows.

She did not appreciate his commanding tone. She'd come here for HIS benefit, the wretch.

"Perhaps I came to check on how my commission is coming along."

He did not like that. The impassive mask dropped from his face, replaced by a scowl.

"The work will be complete in a fortnight, as we agreed. Do you think I intend to cheat you?"

Elana shook her head. Of course she didn't. He was far too proud for schemes and scams, this dwarf.

"I came because I just heard some rather damning gossip, and as it concerns your brethren, I thought I'd best tell you immediately."

"The affairs of myself and my people are no concern of yours. You had better leave before someone sees you here and you yourself become the subject of gossip."

Elana lifted her chin. "Gossip does not concern me. Let the townspeople talk. I have done nothing wrong. I am merely visiting the town blacksmith to discuss work he is doing for my father."

"Oh aye, several high-born ladies visit my forge at all hours of the night. I hammer away, and they leave quite satisfied with my work." He sneered. "You are a fool if you think your father's position will keep your reputation safe. Leave."

The dwarf was impossible. Perhaps she would leave, damn him, and he could find out this news on his own. But that would be letting him win, and Elana did not easily lose battles of will.

"I did not come here in the pouring rain to be sent away like some troublesome child." Taking a deep breath, she pushed her damp hair out of her face and squared her shoulders. "Two of your clan are in danger. Apparently they are very young; I do not know their names."

His eyes sharpened on her. She'd caught his attention.

"Fili and Kili. My nephews. In danger how?"

Elana paused for a moment. They were his nephews? Explaining this was going to be difficult, and more than a little embarrassing for both of them.

"I do not know, exactly. I heard the news from my maid, Megga. She said several of the townsmen are in an uproar over the two of them. Apparently they have been coming into Fornost in the evenings and spending a deal of time at the Bull and Crown."

The blacksmith stared at her. "Is that all? Last I checked, taverns' are not particular over who frequents their establishment, so long as they have coin. Have my nephews not being paying their way?"

"No, no. Apparently the issue is with the tavern maids. One of them in particular; her name is Bessie." Elana paused again. She had rushed over to his forge as soon as Megga told her about the danger, but hadn't given much thought to how she'd explain this situation. She only half understood it herself, as Megga had blushed and stammered her way through the news.

He nodded. "I know Bessie. Buxom red-head, toothy smile. Known to be very friendly indeed, if you have the coin."

Absurdly, Elana felt a spark of jealousy flare in her chest. So he was familiar with Bessie, was he? She should not be surprised; all men were the same, be they human or dwarf. But she had thought this blacksmith was different. She had heard rumors that he was actually a dwarven prince, and that he and his people were exiled from their homeland by some terrible calamity. It was an easy rumor to believe, for all that he was a lowly blacksmith. There was something about him, something noble and almost regal. When she had first walked into his forge with her commision, she had been surprised by his manners and courtesy. True, Elana had never spoken with a dwarf prior to the blacksmith, but she had heard they were generally uncouth and rather crass. Not the blacksmith; he had greeted her politely, and patiently listened as she detailed her idea for a sword that would be her father's nameday present. However, given his comment about the infamous Bessie, perhaps he had only been masking an inherent crassness. She could not stop the frown that creased her face.

"I see." The words came out in a huff, and she did not fail to notice that he had the audacity to smirk at her. "Well, as you're familiar with Bessie's extracurricular activities, then you know my meaning when I say your nephews have been making frequent use of her services." Elana could not mask her disapproval; she practically spat the words out.

The blacksmith appeared unphased. "They are young. And tupping a barmaid is hardly a crime. Is this all that you have to tell me? I am already aware of Fili and Kili's tendencies, and I see no issue with my nephews having a bit of sport with a willing partner."

Elana gaped at him. _Tupping a barmaid is hardly a crime, indeed. _

"Are you daft? Of course there is an issue. Your nephews have been seen going upstairs with Bessie _together, _ and coming back down _together. _ They are _sharing _her. The townsmen are convinced that your nephews have bewitched her. Apparently she has flatly refused _their_ entreaties to share her, and has taken no other customers since this unnatural business began!"

Elana knew she was blushing from the roots of her hair down to her toes, but she _had_ to be frank about what was occurring. She knew enough about what happened to between men and women to know that was going on at the Bull and Crown was beyond the pale...and the young men were _dwarves_, to boot. The men of Fornost did not take kindly to another race tempting their women into debauchery, whether said was woman was already debauched or no.

Elana waited for a response...and waited. The blacksmith was silent for a long moment, staring at her with an unfathomable look in his eyes. It was unnerving. Was he angry at her for being so blunt? Or was he upset by his nephews behaviour? Not for the first time, Elana questioned her wisdom in coming to him. From what she understood from Megga, the blacksmith was the leader of the dwarves who had made a camp on the outer edge of Fornost. He alone worked in the town, where the other dwarves mined the nearby Blue Mountains for coal and iron. Elana had been so distraught by news of what the townsmen were planning that she felt it was her duty to alert the dwarf who had been so courteous to her a few days prior.

She could stand the silence no longer. "The townsmen intend to capture your nephews the next time they come into town. I do not know what they will to do to them, but I fear for their safety. However disturbing their relationship with Bessie, they do not deserve to die for it."

"I see." The words were cold, emotionless. "Tell me, what do you find so disturbing and unnatural about all of this?"

The blacksmith pinned her with his gaze, and slowly stalked towards her. Elana backed up unconsciously, until her the backs of her legs hit a rough wooden table. He kept coming, until mere inches separated them. Elana was very petite, and the blacksmith was taller than her for all that he was a dwarf. His massive body crowded her on all sides.

"Is it the fact that Bessie enjoys the company of two men at once, or the fact that that the two men are dwarves?"

Elana gulped and self-consciously bit her lip. The blacksmith's eyes tracked the movement, his gaze dropping to her mouth for a moment. When his eyes returned to her face, they seemed to burn into her. Elana ducked her chin and turned her face away.

He did not like that. Lifting one massive hand, he cupped her chin and forced her gaze to his.

"You will answer me." His voice was quiet, but there was steel behind it.

What could she say? She felt that any response would not be to his liking.

"I do not know. I am a maiden. My knowledge of such things is limited. I only know that the townsmen are appalled, and I cannot imagine it is for no reason."

The blacksmith did not release her chin, his eyes continuing to bore into her.

"Let me enlighten you, then. Your precious townsmen are angry because Bessie has taken dwarves as her lovers, and clearly prefers my nephews skills to their clumsy caresses. But rather than realize their own failings, they say she has been bewitched and condemn my kin for fucking their women. As if we would bother with human women, if women of our own race were not so scarce."

Elana was beginning to panic. His grip on her chin was firm, and though he was not hurting her, his rough, angry words were frightening. He continued to stare at her, eyes dark with his anger and something else she could not identify. He licked his lips, and she had the absurd sense that he wanted to eat her.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, my lady? Do you see your townsmen for the cowards they are?"

"Please," she whispered. "Please, let me go."

His nostrils flared; abruptly, he dropped her chin and stepped away from her. This time, it was turned he who turned his gaze and could not meet her eyes.

"Forgive me, my lady. I should not have spoken to you so, nor laid a hand on you. I have a temper; we dwarves are famous for them. My people have been wandering for many years, and have been forced to leave whenever we try to settle due to these issues. My anger is with my nephew's idiocy and the prejudice of men, not with you. "

Once again, Elana did not know how to respond. She was at once glad that he let her go, yet the skin on her face seemed to mourn the loss of his touch.

"I understand," she managed, her voice small and somewhat shaky. "I am sorry to bring you unwelcome news. I felt it was the right thing to do."

He laughed, a harsh, angry bark that contained no mirth. "You do not understand. But I appreciate the sentiment. And again, I apologize for my behaviour. It will not happen again. Further, I shall finish your commission ahead of schedule and will not charge you for the work. You may send a servant to retrieve the sword next Tuesday."

"That is not necessary..." she began, but he interrupted her.

"I insist. Consider it a token of appreciation for coming to me with this news. Whether you admit it or not, you have taken a great risk with your reputation to be here tonight. I am at your service, my lady." He finally met her gaze again, and gave her a short, polite bow.

Elena could tell she had been dismissed, but felt a lingering need to say something. She did not like how this was ending.

"I shall be coming to collect the sword myself. And it occurs to me, blacksmith, that I never asked your name when first we met. I would have it now, if you please."

He regarded her warily. "Why the sudden interest in my name, might I ask?"

She sighed. He was incredibly irritating at times. "Because I should like to tell my father the crafter of his impressive sword. And because I dislike thinking of you as simply "the dwarven blacksmith." You gave me your nephews names; surely you have one too?"

He considered her for a long moment, and gently shook his head. "You must go, my lady." He brushed her elbow with his hand, and pushed her towards the door.

Elana sigh and walked out, looking for the waiting Megga who would accompany her back to her father's home. That had not gone at all how she had planned; though to be fair, she had not had much of plan to begin with.

"Lady Elana." She glanced over her shoulder to see the blacksmith still standing in the doorway.

"My name is Thorin. Thorin Oakenshield."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Many thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. This chapter will essentially be recounting the events of the first chapter from Thorin's point of view, with a little more background and context thrown in. I hope this gives a glimpse into how I imagine Thorin to be as a character, and why he's acting the way he has. This is only my interpretation of him, and I recognize it may not be exactly canonical or keeping with how he's been portrayed in the book (though certainly, I can see Richard Armitage's Thorin feeling/acting this way). I have an idea of where this story will be going, but I really appreciate any comments and critiques. It is always nice to know that someone other than yourself is enjoying your story!

Chapter 2

Thorin watched the girl walk away from his forge, her maid hurrying to catch up. She had inclined her head and given him a small smile when he'd said his name, as if they had reached some sort of truce. She was a terrible fool.

Once she was out of eyesight, Thorin slammed the forge door shut and barred it closed. Her unexpected visit would teach him to leave his door unlocked so late at night. Angry townsmen, he could more than handle, but petite, doe-eyed women with a moral streak were another matter entirely. He could not believe her audacity; the lass had to be touched in the head, or incredibly willful and ignorant of the ways of the world. Given her response to Bessie's preferences, he had to assume it was the latter.

Lady Elana had marched right into his forge, determined to alert him of his kinsmen's danger, yet heedless of the danger she put herself in in the process. He supposed he should be moved that she found him so trustworthy; however, his behavior tonight would ensure that she'd not be so naïve again.

Thorin sighed. He was not proud of how he'd acted. He was dwarf, aye, and only male to boot, and hearing her prim account of his nephew's _unnatural_ behavior set his blood to boiling. He was not sure what bothered him more; whether it was the news that once again, a town of men had reason to hate his kind, or whether it was her obvious distaste for Bessie's choice in sexual partners. He had to admit, if only to himself, the latter irritated him more than it should.

Thorin knew he was attracted to Lady Elena. There was no point in denying _that_ fact. The morning she had walked into his forge, he had smelt her before she'd even crossed the threshold. She had a delicious scent, fresh and clean, like rosemary and lemon and sunshine. It had flooded his senses, and her effect on him only intensified when he got a look at her.

She was a tiny woman by human standards, standing no more than five feet, with a slight chest and shapely hips She'd been bundled into a tidy velvet morning dress trimmed in ermine, with a single pearl winking at her throat from a delicate golden chain. Her red gold hair was a sleekly pinned into a simple bun, and her large green eyes were clear and bright. She was a definitively _human_ beauty, possessing neither the generous figure and trademark beard of dwarvish woman, nor the cool, willowy elegance of the eleven race.

He had not appreciated his physical reaction to her. Thorin was no stranger to the occasional covert tryst with a tavern wench, but he considered those encounters borne out of physical necessity rather than actual desire. As a prince of his race, he was loathe to admit he actively found human women appealing, when his people were dying out due to a lack of dwarven unions. Female dwarves were rare, it was true, but the lack of children stemmed from more than just their scarcity. Like their male counterparts, female dwarves were jealous by nature and did not easily forgive. Many female dwarves could not stand the idea that their partners might have been with human women, no matter how long ago, and thus many chose to remain alone and abstinent rather than align themselves with a dwarf whom they could not call their own in every way.

It was a problem that had no easy solution, especially now that the line of Durin was wandering the wide world. With human women readily available, and often eager to explore "the other side," the younger dwarves of his line had little reason to control their lust. They were a race driven by passions, physical and emotional, and Thorin was hard-pressed to reign in his own desires, let alone those of his brethren. The best he could do was set a good example, and hope his men would follow him in that as they did in everything else.

Which was why, of course, he found it extremely inconvenient that Lady Elena had such a visceral effect on him. The second she had walked into his forge, he had wished with all his might that she would immediately walk out again once she got a look at him. Surely, a high-born lady would not seek the custom of a dwarvish blacksmith. Where once his race had been revered for their skill at the forge, Thorin found himself doing only the lowliest work in the human towns far west of Erebor. Men coveted Elvish work in this part of the world.

Certainly, it had seemed like Lady Elena _would _bolt when she first laid eyes on him. Her jaw had dropped a little, and she could not disguise the look of shock on her face, though she certainly gave it a valiant effort. But Thorin was monitoring her closely, and he soon recognized her reaction for what it really was. She desired him. She likely did not care to realize it herself, but he could smell her body's reaction to him. It was subtle, just the barest shift of hormones and heart-rate, but it was enough to make his own blood rush downwards. He had clearly been too long without a woman.

Hoping civility would prove an antidote to his lust, he'd politely greeted her and asked how he might help. Lady Elena had quickly wiped the shock of her face, and answered him with equal courtesy. She was looking to surprise her father with a present, a sword of dwarvish make. Apparently her lord father was something of a collector, and had several different swords made by notable smiths among men and elves.

"But he hasn't a dwarvish sword, so I thought you might assist me with completing his collection. I have heard some dwarves are quite skilled at crafting beautiful weaponry." She had locked eyes with him then, and Thorin had felt another bolt of lust stab through him. Mahal, but his body's reactions were ridiculous. He'd quickly assured her that he could make something suitable for her father, and had even given her an extremely low price so she would not be tempted to haggle with him. He needed her to leave as soon as possible, before she saw through his manners and read the hunger in eyes.

The second she left, he'd thrown himself into hammering out the axles for a new cart, desperate to lose himself in physical activity. He'd succeeded in exhausting himself, but the lust had not abated. Her scent seemed to have permeated his forge, and he'd spent a restless night before finally giving in and granting himself some release. Thorin despised his own weakness, but soon reconciled himself with facts. He had not been around a woman who was not a blood relative in quite some time, and he was in the prime of his life by dwarven standards. It was only natural that he would react to a young, fertile female. And he could easily avoid seeing Lady Elana again if he wished. In fact, when she came back to pick up her commission, he could have Balin watch the forge so he would not be present. He would not have to deal with the unwanted lust a second time.

But of course, as was the tenor of his life, Thorin had not been so lucky.

Three days had passed since their first encounter, and he had not thought of Lady Elena since that brief moment of pleasure he'd allowed himself in bed. He was consumed by his work in the forge, and by his daily trek to the dwarvish settlement outside the town's walls. Running a forge required he live in town, but he made sure to break bread with his own people every day. They needed their leader's presence as much as he needed theirs.

Tonight, he had returned from the settlement later than usual; his sister, Dis, had been in a rare good humor and had joined him for supper. Seeing his sister out and about had made his heart feel light; too often, she kept herself secluded from everyone save her sons. Thorin had been reluctant to leave her when she was in the mood for company, but he had a set of axes to complete before the morning. He'd been so distracted by thoughts of his sister that he had left the forge door wide open as he'd hurriedly slung a leather apron about his neck and set to work. He had just begun to temper the metal for a blade when the waft of lemon and rosemary had invaded his senses.

Thorin rested his forehead against the stone wall of the forge as the encounter replayed again in his mind. He could not believe she'd come to him so late at night, whatever the danger might have been to his kin. Had she truly thought nothing of her own reputation, of her own _safety_? Thorin prided himself on his ability to mask his emotions, but surely the girl was not so blind to his desire for her. Or, if he had succeeded in hiding his lust, she still must know better than to visit a man alone after dark. Anyone who saw her would think she was sneaking out to see a lover.

At first, Thorin _had _ thought that was the purpose of her visit. He'd had woman seek him out before; generally they were wives of local men, bored and looking for the thrill of the unknown. Thorin had always turned them away. He was a prince of Durin, and would not lower himself to be some farmwife's adventure for an evening. At least with a barmaid, sex was a simple monetary transaction, coin paid for services rendered. He liked simple.

Yet Lady Elana was anything but simple. When he realized she'd not come for a tryst and instead to give him news, Thorin had been relieved. He was not sure he'd have been able to turn her down, had she propositioned him. But the relief had been short-lived as she launched into the situation with his nephews.

Aye, but he would wring both of their necks. Fili and Kili were good lads, but they had a wild streak and were ever egging the other on. They were still very young and had spent their entire lives in exile, where the only dwarven woman were their mother's age or older. Include the fact that the boys were both tall and strikingly handsome for dwarves, and it was inevitable they would have more than their fair share of "attention" from human woman. And where Thorin did not often indulge himself, the brothers more than made up for his restraint.

In fact, Thorin's people had been forced to leave their last settlement in the Breelands because Fili had been caught tupping a merchant's wife in the back of a shop. Fili swore she had come on to him, but when caught in the act, the woman claimed he had raped her and the entire dwarven company was driven out of town. It later came out that woman had confessed she'd been with several other men in the town and had cleared Fili's name, but by then it was too late. The dwarves had been uprooted, and Dis had endured the shame of her son's actions.

That was Thorin's sticking point. He could handle most anything, but he could not bear to see his sister or his people suffer anymore than they already had. But if what Lady Elana had told him was true, then once again, his people were in harm's way. And for what? Because his nephews could not control their desires? They were not bad men; were they to be condemned for enjoying pleasure that was freely offered? Thorin had little doubt that Bessie had made her interest in them apparent; she'd done the same to him when he'd gone to the tavern for an ale. Yet for all that Bessie was willing, the townsmen said she had to be under some spell in order to desire a dwarf.

And by the way Lady Elana had spoken, she agreed with them. The second the word 'unnatural' had crossed her lips, Thorin had seen red. Driven by anger and a selfish need to prove that he was not alone in the attraction that flared between them, he'd purposefully cornered her, forcing her to feel his body heat and meet his gaze so he could gauge her reaction to his nearness. He knew he'd unsettled her, but he was intoxicated by her smell and the feel of her delicate face in his hands and he could not bring himself to care. It was only when she'd pleaded with him to let her go that he'd detected the acrid hint of fear in her scent. It had burned in his nostrils, making him instantly disgusted with himself. _What had he done?_

He'd made what apologies he could and all but pushed her out the door, but strangely, once he'd let her go, she seemed to be un-phased by his behaviour. When she'd asked his name, Thorin could only assume she meant to report him to the townsmen for assaulting her, but something had made him reconsider. For all that he was attracted to her, he also had to acknowledge a grudging respect for her moral fortitude and courage. She'd risked herself to warn him of danger, and he'd repaid her by pawing at her like some savage orc. The least he could do was give her name, to do with as she would.

Thorin surveyed his now empty forge. Lady Elana's scent continued to linger, which made him thankful that he had the axes to finish before the morning. With any luck, he'd be up all night completing the project and would avoid any temptation to slack his lust as he had before.

Now, more than ever, he could not be distracted by his attraction to this human woman. Thorin had his peoples' well being to think of. They were prospering in this settlement, and could ill afford to seek yet another home. Somehow, he had to diffuse this situation at the tavern, and find a way to keep his nephews safe.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"My lady? Wake up, my lady."

Elena started awake and looked wildly about, still half in a dream. She had been in a dark room, with a low fire burning, and a rumbling voice had been talking to her in a low, threatening tone. She had turned around and around, trying to locate the voice but could see only shadows until she felt a firm hand close around her neck...

The events of the previous night rushed back to her as she plopped back against her pillows. God, but she was an impetuous fool.

"What time is it?" she mumbled to Megga, who was busy laying out her breakfast tea.

"A bit past nine. I'm sorry to wake you, but I did not dare to let you sleep any later. You normally rise so early, and I didn't want to make anyone suspicious."

Elena pushed herself up from the warm bed, swinging her legs over the side and into her fur-lined slippers. "Thank you. I know you didn't get much sleep yourself, with my keeping you out so late. You did not have to accompany me, you know."

Megga tsked. "What, and let you steal into town alone and unprotected? It was on account of my wagging tongue that you went on that little mission in the first place. You are too eager to involve yourself, my lady, if you don't mind me speaking plainly."

Elena gave a self-depreciating laugh and picked up her teacup. "You are only speaking the truth. I should not have rushed off to warn the dwarf as I did. It could have easily waited until this morning. But what's done is done, and we're none the worse for wear."

Her maid gave her skeptical look and bit her lip. "Are you sure about that, my lady? You were so quiet on way back last night. And just now, you were breathing so heavily in your sleep and thrashing about. What happened in the forge? That creature didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No, he didn't hurt me. And he's not a creature, Megga. He's a person. He said his name is Thorin."

"And was this "Thorin" duly grateful for the warning you gave him? I don't know that any dwarf deserves the trouble you went to, no matter how "courteous" he is."

Elena schooled her face, trying to keep her expression as neutral as possible. It would not do for Megga to learn anything about how the encounter had _actually_ gone. She was fiercely protective of her mistress, and would be the first to see the blacksmith strung up for his impertinence.

"Of course he was grateful. He thanked me very properly and even offered to finish my commission early. " There. That was at least part of the truth. She busied herself with tea, hoping Megga would ask no more questions.

"Well, that's something, then. At least he's not a complete barbarian. Unlike those two at the tavern. Did the blacksmith tell you what he planned to do about them? Perhaps the clan will pack up and leave Fornost and save us all from any more trouble."

Elena sipped her tea. "I do not think that it will come to that. From what Thorin said, he and his people have been on the road many years seeking a new home. I don't think they will leave unless they absolutely have to. Why are you so against the dwarves, Megga? They have been very good for business, by all accounts. Father said the coal and iron they have produced has drawn considerable new trade to the area."

Megga bristled. "First of all, my lady, I don't think it's quite proper for you to be referring to that dwarf by his first name. And secondly, I think you could stand to be a bit more wary of this blacksmith and his people. Dwarves are said to be grasping and foul tempered, not to mention unscrupulous. They're almost all male, and just look what they've done to Bessie. They have their greedy eyes on all the women in this town, make no mistake."

Elena has a sudden flashback to the night before, when the blacksmith had pinned her against the table and grasped her chin in his hand. She remembered the hot look in his eyes and how helpless she had felt. But he had not hurt her, and seemed to immediately regret his behavior. Surely, he was no more dangerous than any other man of any other race when his temper was roused.

"Megga, you must stop being so prejudiced." Elena used her firmest tone. "They are not monsters just because they are different than what you know. I doubt very much the dwarves have done anything to Bessie that she did not openly encourage. Have you ever even spoken to a dwarf?"

Her maid answered her grudgingly. "No, I haven't. I've only seen them at a distance, when they bring their ore into town. They are so hairy, my lady! And short and brutal looking. How could Bessie actually desire such beastly looking men?."

"Perhaps up close they are not so beastly," said Elena. The blacksmith was certainly not beastly. He was very _male_, it was true, but pleasingly so. He was rugged and quite handsome, just a different sort of handsome than the more slender and angular men of Fornost.

Of course, Elena could not admit that to her maid. She continued, "And perhaps they are kind to Bessie. Perhaps they compliment her and make merry jokes and she enjoys their company."

Megga sighed, sensing she was getting nowhere with her argument. "Perhaps. In any case, it sounds as if your commission will be done soon and we won't have much cause to interact with the dwarves after that. Now, come, let me do up your hair. You are to meet with your lady mother at ten past to call on Mrs. Bluelyn."

Elena set her teacup down with an abrupt clang. "Mrs. Bluelyn? But I have lessons with Master Cowlter this morning. I will not miss them."

Master Cowlter was her father's newest tutor. He had been take the place of old Master Pulti a year ago, and Elena liked him a great deal. Her father, Lord Darnan, kept a lore-master in his household to teach his children (and himself) about the history and languages of the many different peoples of Middle Earth. All the other masters in Fornost had been trained in the great university in Minas Tirith, but Master Cowlter had actually gained a considerable part of his education in Imladris. A master who had been trained by the great elf Lord Elrond was highly coveted; Elena felt very fortunate to learn from such a knowledgeable scholar.

Megga smirked at her. "Your mother moved your lessons to this afternoon. You'll not get out of this visit, my lady. You mother has her heart set on a mighty prize for you "

Elena knew her maid was right. Mrs. Bluelyn's son, Erik, son of Arton,was widely considered the most eligible bachelor in Fornost and the surrounding towns. Indeed, as her mother frequently reminded her, one would have to travel south far into Rohan before one might find another man who was his equal. Erik _was_ a strikingly beautiful man; tall and lean, with closely cropped golden hair and tawny eyes. Additionally, the Bluelyns, while not lords under the current political structure, could trace their lineage back to the first Numenoreans who had settled in Arnor an age ago. They had cousins in high standing in Gondor, along with vast wealth and many holdings beyond their principal seat in Fornost.

Elena had only ever glimpsed Erik Bluelyn when she was a deal younger; he was seven years her senior, and had only just returned from a five year stay with his relatives in Osgiliath. His return a month ago had been the talk of Fornost. Mrs Bluelyn, already a very popular woman, had been inundated with visitors. Elena had gone with her mother to the Bluelyn estate twice a week to call, but they had yet to catch site of the mysterious Erik. If the man had any wits about him, he was likely hiding from all the determined mothers with eligible daughters in tow. Which was perfectly fine with Elena, as she had no desire to meet _him, _either.

In fact, if she were honest with herself, Elena was rather dismayed at his return. For the past five years, she had managed to live without too much pressure from either parent to choose a husband. She liked to believe that this was because her parents were forward-thinking and did not think it was her solemn duty to marry well and produce high-born heirs, but she knew better. Her mother simply did not want to waste her only daughter on some lesser lord of Fornost when Erik Bluelyn was yet unattached. He _would_ eventually return home to Fornost, and when he did, Elena _would _ be available. Of course, Elena knew her mother was imminently practical-if Erik, son of Arton, died, or even worse, picked another bride, then they could always find Elena another husband among the sons of the other lords. Lord Darnan was the wealthiest and most influential man in this small corner of Middle Earth, and there was no end of petty lords and rich merchants seeking his favor. Yes, Elena would be married. It was only a matter of when, and to whom-neither of which were things she was likely to have any control over.

Snapping out of her brief reverie, Elena returned her maid''s smirk and walked over to her dressing table. "Well, at least my dear mother did not cancel my lessons entirely. With any luck, we'll spend our usual hour making conversation with Mrs. Bluelyn without any sightings of the prized heir. I expect to be back before lunch." She thought for a moment, as Megga brushed her hair and began pinning it back. "But just in case, I think I shall wear my taupe silk dress."

Megga met her mistress's eyes in the mirror. "My lady, that color does absolutely nothing for your complexion."

Elena gazed back at her, all innocence. "Exactly. As I said, I expect to be back before lunch."

Master Cowlter had just finished his lunch and begun walking towards the large solar where he held his lessons when he caught sight of his pupil hurrying towards him. Clad in a flowing gown of taupe silk with a simple blue cloak about her shoulders, Lady Elena looked rather flustered

"Oh, Master Cowlter, I am so glad I caught you in you time. I thought you might cancel our lessons for today if I was late."

"Nonsense. I am your father's lore-master, and therefore, your lore-master. If you are late, you can still command me to instruct you. That is my duty."

Lady Elena smiled sheepishly. "Yes, well, you know I leave all commanding to my father. And Master Pulti used to cancel our lessons whenever he had a reason to. I think he was always looking for an excuse to take a nap, the poor old man."

Cowlter smiled back at her. "It is a good thing I am younger than Master Pulti, then. Shall we?"

They walked into the brightly lit solar; it was strewn with books and maps beyond counting, but contained only two chairs and a large writing desk. Master Cowlter was currently indexing all the texts into a logical order, but his work was slow going. Lord Darnan had an impressive collection, but Master Pulti had done nothing in the past twenty years to keep track of the growing library.

Elena settled into her chair as Master Cowlter retrieved two copies of the poem they had been reviewing, handed one to her, and settled into his own chair across from her. The poem was a lay of Earendil written in Sindarin, which Elena was learning to read. She, like most other high born human women, could speak the eleven tongue passably well, but learning to read it was a challenge. Elves used the Tengwar script in most of their writings, and she had only ever learned the Common alphabet. It made reading the text painfully slow, but once she mastered reading in Tengwar,she would be able to read most of the scrolls in her father's collection.

Today, however, she could not keep herself interested in reading elvish script. After only a few moments of looking blankly at page before her, she closed the book.

"Forgive me, Master Colwter, but what do you know of dwarvish history?"

Cowlter looked over to her in surprise. "I learned quite a bit about the dwarrows in my time with Lord Elrond. What do you wish to know?"

Elena was silent for a moment, choosing her words very carefully. "Well, I'm sure you know that a dwarf settlement has sprung up on the outskirts of the town. I was just wondering if you knew anymore about them. It seems like we focus very little on dwarf culture, but it might be prudent to learn more as they are now in our midst."

Master Cowlter nodded approvingly. "Yes, you're quite right. I had heard that a clan had settled near here. They are miners, correct? There are several lesser dwarf clans who have taken to wandering Middle Earth, making a living doing work wherever they are needed."

Elena frowned. "What do you mean, lesser clans? The dwarves have hierarchies?"

"Oh yes. Much like men and elves, there are several branches of dwarves, each with their own heritage. There were once seven great kingdoms of dwarves, before Sauron and the first darkness. Dwarves have diminished in Third Age, though they maintain some impressive kingdoms in the mountains far east of here. "

Elena leaned forward eagerly. "How familiar are you with their naming customs? Would you be able to determine which clan they belong to by a patronym? Only I commissioned a sword for my fathers as a surprise, and the dwarvish blacksmith was kind enough to give me his name."

Master Cowlter smiled at her indulgently. "I am not an expert in Dwarvish history, but I will see what I can do. At the very least, we can consult the few texts I have on the dwarrows to see if we can't find the clan name. What is the patronym?"

"Oakenshield. He said his name was Thorin Oakshield."

A surprised laugh burst from Master Cowlter's lips. "Lady Elena, you are cleverer than I thought. What a splendid joke."

Lady Elena did not return his laugh. "I fail to see what is so funny. Is that a common name for a dwarf?"

Cowlter instantly became more somber. "No. I'm sorry my lady, I did not mean to laugh at you. I thought you were playing a joke on me. You see, that is the name of exiled dwarf prince. Thorin Oakenshield, son Thror, son of Thrain, is the heir to the race of Durin. Of all dwarves, they are the most lauded, the most revered, the most powerful. Or they were, until their home was stolen from them. Nearly forty years ago, Durin's folk were driven from their kingdom in Erebor by a terrible dragon. Smaug, he is called. He came down from the Northern wild and destroyed all in his path before seizing their homeland."

Elena nodded. "Yes, I remember this story. My old nurse used to tell me that if I was naughty, Smaug the dragon might come to get me. She said little girls with golden curls where his favorite thing to eat.

"I cannot say about the golden curls, but Smaug certainly desires gold. It is an incurable craving amongst all dragons; they are forever seeking gold, only to hoard it when they do find it. The dwarves of Erebor had grown immensely rich and powerful; their wealth was unmatched in all of Middle Earth. Smaug took it all from them. The fall of Erebor is actually one of the few true calamities of the Third Age. I am certain I have a scroll or two concerning it in my personal collection, if you would care to read more."

"Thank you, I would. But Master Cowlter, might we discuss the blacksmith more? Do you suppose he was jesting when he gave me that name?"

Cowlter was silent for a moment; he did not want to make Lady Elena feel foolish. "Well, in all likelihood, he was teasing. The story of Smaug and the dwarves of Erebor has become very common, along with the name of Thorin Oakenshield. Perhaps he assumed you would know that was not his real name."

Elena was not convinced. The context in which she had learned the blacksmith's name did not lead her to believe he had been jesting. "That is possible. But Master Cowlter, is it possible that this blacksmith is who he claims? Whatever became of this Thorin and his people?"

Now it was Master Cowlter's turn to feel foolish. "I can't rightly say. King Thror tried to take back the ancient kingdom of Moria, but he was slain. After that, the dwarves of Erebor were said to be wandering the world, seeking a new home. I suppose it is possible that they are the clan who has settled near Fornost. Can you describe the blacksmith, my lady? There are some distinguishing traits he would have if he is as he claims."

"Well, he is very tall-taller than I, in fact, though that is no great feat. But still, for a dwarf, he is far larger than I would have expected. And he has very dark black hair, and his eyes are a rather startling shade of blue."

Elena felt immensely uncomfortable giving such a vivid description of a man, but Master Cowlter didn't seem to notice. He rubbed the top of his bald head as he thought aloud. "Tall, with dark hair and the blue eyes of his sires. Tell me, my lady, did you notice any braids in his hair?"

Elena had to think for a moment. "Yes, actually. He has twin braids on either sides of his temples. They were secured with silver fastenings."

"Warriors braids," Cowlter muttered. "Your description fits what is known about the royal line of Durin. They are unusually tall for dwarves, with light blue eyes. And Thorin is considered a great warrior amongst his kind, so it would be expected for him wear a warriors braids. Still, it is a lofty claim to make. I would not expect Durin's heir to be quietly working as a humble blacksmith. His folk are a very mighty people, for all that they have been laid low by the calamity that befell them."

"Forty years is a long time to be in exile, Master. Perhaps long enough to humble even the loftiest of lords. And I have even heard that there is gossip in town, saying he is actually a prince. There is often a kernel of truth on the tip of wagging tongues. " Elena tried to keep her voice sensible and neutral, but she was utterly fascinated by this conversation. _What if the blacksmith was who he said?_

"You are right, my lady. I cannot wholly discount this dwarf's claim without meeting and speaking with him myself. You said he has a forge in town? Perhaps I will go speak with him soon, to see what I can learn. I confess, you have made me very intrigued."

"Then you shall come with me when I return to the forge on Tuesday," said Elena with a clap of her hands. "The blacksmith said my father's sword will be completed then. I would so enjoying learning the truth about the dwarves here, whomever they may be."

"I shall do my best to help you, my lady. But in the mean time…" Cowlter looked pointedly down at the closed poem in her hands.

"Yes, yes, it is back to Tengwar." Elena opened the volume and did her best to focus on the difficult script. But her mind kept drifting back to the blacksmith, who might in fact be an exiled prince.


End file.
